


Flat White Blonde

by PoemAboutCitylights



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coffee Shop, Fluff, M/M, Stripping-References, after the war, auror!Harry, barista!draco, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 18:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16624529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemAboutCitylights/pseuds/PoemAboutCitylights
Summary: Inspired by the post:"I ordered a blonde flat white from Starbucks while on my break and the barista must have been having a long day bc he goes 'that would be my stripper name' and there was like five seconds of dead silence between us before he looked up and realized he said that out loud."





	Flat White Blonde

It was Draco’s seventh hour of work for the day, the afternoon rush having just come to an end, with closing time still so far ahead of him that he felt like banging his head against a wall the next time someone would tell him that he’d written a fucking name wrong.  
_Stupid_ muggles with their _stupid_ names, making themselves important by adding a stupid fucking vowel to a name where it clearly wasn’t necessary.  
Draco hated his job as a barista, had hated it from the very start and would probably hate it into all eternity but after the war, after he had escaped from the world he had once called his home, it had been his best option.  
Well, considering that he knew how to brew a deathly potion but wasn’t able to anything the muggles considered useful, it had been his _only_ option.  
(Despite the fact that it had taken him a couple of days to get used to the concept of _interaction_ with customers.)  
Draco didn’t give a flying fuck about his job and on the good side, he knew that no one gave a fuck about him either.  
No one would even give him a second glance and with his now longer hair that he had started to wear in a bun, he blended into the other muggle baristas perfectly.  
_Adaption_ , as he secretly called it.  
Some girl had even called his mark _lit_ that one time that his sleeve had ridden up.  
No extra whip for her that day, that had been for sure.  
  
So now it was 5:30pm and he was barely able to hold his eyes open, let alone work the machines. He had been stifling yawns for about an hour now, his limps starting to grow heavy, his legs feeling numb.  
He hated this job.  
_Hated it_.  
Merlin, the things he could do if he had been able to get into the ministry as an auror of if he had gotten that place at the potion academy in France.  
He would not have to deal with all this muggle bullshit.  
Even being a stripper sounded more appealing than having to work at Starbucks for another few months.  
It would be easier money, that was for sure, and thinking about it now, Draco had to acknowledge that he’d probably be rather good at it.  
He had always known how to use these hips.  
And people at strip clubs were usually drunk which meant that it would be even easier to trick them into giving him their money.  
Lord, how fucking _stupid_ muggles were.  
  
Draco let out an annoyed groan when he saw that another costumer had arrived, not really giving him much of a look while he was too busy thinking about how he maybe should hit up Steve, his slightly creepy neighbour who he was sure knew someone who could get him into a strip club.  
Yeah, stripping probably wouldn’t be too bad.  
Not much worse than being called out for writing names wrong, anyway.  
The costumer, a dark haired man about his age – as Draco realized once he shot him a quick glance – cleared his throat politely.  
“Mh?” Draco asked, mentally calculating how many lap dances he would have to give to get out of the shithole that was his flat and move to the other side of the river to a nicer part of London.  
“Ehm,” the guy made and Draco grew annoyed immediately. Didn’t people realize that he had better things to do?  
“What can I get you?” he forced himself to say through gritted teeth, still not even bothering to look up.  
10 lap dances an evening? 20?  
Maybe he should write Blaise.  
Blaise probably knew of such things.  
“A flat white blonde, please.”  
Draco mentally rolled his eyes. He had never understood what was so appealing about _coffee_.  
But then, an idea hit him.  
_That would be my stripper name._  
Yes, what a great idea. He’d savour it for later.  
  
It was only when he heard a choking noise that forced him to look up that Draco realized that he had maybe, probably, been saying those words out loud.  
Not that that was the worst part of his day.  
Because staring right back at him, eyes wide and in horror, was none other than the Golden Boy himself, the saviour of the world, Harry _bloody_ Potter.  
What in the name of Merlin had Draco ever done wrong in his life to deserve such punishment?  
  
“Malfoy!” Potter exclaimed and his eyes were still so wide, almost comically so, until he seemed to recollect himself, coughing once again.  
“Potter,” Draco growled and squinted his eyes, feeling heat creeping up his back while all he could do was hope that it wouldn’t show as a blush on his cheeks.  
Fucking hell.  
“Your flat white blonde!” Draco then snapped and all but shoved the cup into the golden one’s waiting hands. Potter blinked.  
Once, twice, and then a third time, before he turned around without a word.  
Draco didn’t even have a chance to give him his change money.  
What a disaster.

It was two days later, Draco had successfully suppressed the memory of what had happened – or maybe he hadn’t, considering that he felt like a portable heater each time someone ordered a flat white blonde now – when Potter walked into the coffee shop another time.  
Draco was standing with his back to the customers but he had spotted Potter in the reflective surface of their machines, only turning around when he heard the Gryffindor’s smug “So you’re planning on taking your career to the next level?”  
Draco turned around with a scoff and leaned against the counter, his gaze taking in the sight of the other wizard.  
Potter hadn’t even bothered to wear muggle-appropriate clothes but as no one seemed to give his long robes with the ministry’s emblem a second glance, Draco guessed that he had put up a veiling charm.  
In fact, Draco had already dismissed the idea to become a stripper, considering that meant interaction with _muggles_ but Potter didn’t need to know that.  
“So what if I am?”  
It had been a while since he had last seen Potter. They had been running into each other a few times after Draco’s trial when Potter had already started his training to become an auror.  
But after the blond had moved to this side of town, he hadn’t seen anyone from his earlier life anymore.  
(Except for Blaise and Pansy, who were basically parasites, thanks for nothing.)  
Draco also couldn’t deny that Potter was looking good.  
The robes were nice and his hair was a different kind of messy now. The auror look looked kind of cool on him.  
Or maybe Draco was simply going insane by now from being around muggles and their godawful taste for too long. The thought alone made him shiver.  
“You good?”  
“Mh? Yes,” he snapped and his face grew dark when he saw Potter’s lips curling up into a smirk.  
“A stripper, huh?” the chosen one asked and the smirk turned into a full-faced grin. Draco growled.  
“Got a problem with that?”  
Potter shook his head and pointed at the menu board above their heads.  
“A flat white blonde, please. With extra whip.”  
“Sure,” Draco answered and shot the other one a dark glance, “everything’s _extra_ with you, isn’t it, Potter?”  
Draco would have expected Potter to shoot back a snarky remark but instead his eyes lit up an instant and then a sound bubbled up his throat, which sounded suspiciously much like a _laugh_.  
“Come on, Malfoy. You’re implying that _I’m_ extra when it’s _you_ that wants to be a stripper called _flat white blonde_?”  
“Priorities?” Draco barked but then there it was again, Potter’s laugh.  
Draco frowned.  
“I like it, by the way.”  
“Huh?”  
“Your stripper name,” Potter chuckled and placed one of his curls back behind his ear, “it sounds _mysterious_.”  
“That’s what I’m trying to be,” Draco said, the same second that he wanted to slap himself because was he joking around with fucking Potter?  
“I know,” the chosen one grinned and took the cup out of his hands, which Draco hadn’t even realized was finished.  
“Thanks,” Potter said and then the idiot had the decency to _wink_ , before turning around and leaving the shop.

Potter came back the day after and the day after that and the day after the day after as well, only that he was now ordering different types of coffee each day, engaging Draco into whole-hearted arguments on whether today’s coffee was an equally good stripper name or not.  
  
“I don’t think caramel chocolate is an adequate term for a stripper, Potter,” Draco remarked on the 20-something-th day of Harry coming in to get coffee.  
“Really?” Potter had sat down on one of the barstools, stirring in his cup, “I think I’d book you.”  
Draco rolled his eyes, “You say that every time. You said that you’d book me when you ordered your Non-Fat Latte with Caramel drizzle.”  
“Yes,” Potter nodded and then grinned, “and it was delicious, wasn’t it?”  
“You wouldn’t actually book a stripper called Flat White Blonde or Caramel Chocolate or whatever, Potter. At least you’ve got to admit that.”  
Potter smirked and Draco suddenly felt uncomfortable under the other wizard’s gaze, who slid his money and a note across the counter.  
“That has my apartment’s address on it. Why don’t you find out?”  


**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts on this? :)


End file.
